


The Dance Goes On

by magista



Series: The Wedding Dance [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-24
Updated: 2002-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magista/pseuds/magista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sequel to <b>The Wedding Dance</b><br/>By magista<br/>Spoilers up to 'Wrecked'</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Dance of the Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to **The Wedding Dance**  
>  By magista  
> Spoilers up to 'Wrecked'

**The Dance Goes On**

Sequel to **The Wedding Dance**  
By magista  
Spoilers up to 'Wrecked'

 **Dance of the Hours**

The cab finally pulled up in front of the Summers home. Since most cabbies in Sunnydale had the sense to install partitions between front and back, Buffy, Dawn and Spike had crowded together across the rear seat. Somehow, Dawn had ended up in the middle position, leaving Spike out of Buffy's reach. She found it hard to believe how much it mattered suddenly, being near to him. For his part, Spike found Dawn's comment about 'riding the hump' just plain disturbing - definitely a new sensation for him.

Buffy slipped her hand into Spike's again as they started up the walk, but felt no need to speak. Even Dawn seemed too tired to talk, which in itself was an event ranking just second to the end of the world. She opened the front door to let them in, then started the mundane business of putting away coats, purses and wraps, until she noticed that Spike still lingered on the porch.

"Spike? Aren't you . . .?"

"Just like to hear you say it, love. So there's no doubt, you see."

Buffy extended her hand to him across the threshold. "I'd . . . like you to . . . please come in," she managed at last. Spike stepped across, and curved his arm gently about her waist.

"See?" he said. "Not so hard."

"Whew. I'm just glad we're home at last," Buffy sighed, leaning into his embrace. "And at least one of us is way overdue on getting to bed."

"And you are too, Dawn," Spike added. Buffy elbowed him. "What?" he demanded. "Little Bit's neither blind," he trailed two fingers along Buffy's collarbone, from her shoulder inward, "nor is she stupid," and then drew them down into the hollow between her breasts. He looked over Buffy's shoulder into Dawn's widening eyes. "You still here?" Dawn broke for the stairs and ran to the top, not stopping until her door slammed behind her.

"Well, that should keep her for a while," Spike laughed.

"Do you really want her in her room imagining everything that's going on?"

"Let her imagine," he said. He bit his plush lower lip and smiled, bringing creases to the corners of his eyes. "She'll never keep up."

And with that comment, he dropped his mouth to hers. Worries about what Dawn might think forgotten, Buffy sucked on his lower lip gently, enjoying how it made him groan into her mouth and clutch her hips tightly to his. His arousal was already quite evident.

"Couch?" he questioned roughly, at length. "Can't get too far. Or I could probably manage kitchen table. Counter's a little too high, though."

"Bed. Mine. You in it," Buffy gasped, suddenly not able to manage complete sentences.

"Ah. Right. Give us a moment then." He took a breath he didn't need, and lifted her into his arms. "You always this demanding?" he asked, as he started up the stairs. "Not that I mind, love, so long as it's me you're demanding."

"You talk too much Spike, you know that?" So he didn't say another word as he carried her to her door and set her down.

The door had barely closed behind them when he lunged for her again, one hand closing in her hair to draw her head back for another, more urgent kiss. Her hands slipped under his suit jacket, caressing the muscles of his back and then pulling him to her with crushing strength. In a moment, he was glad he _didn't_ need to breathe.

Buffy suddenly broke out of their embrace and, reaching for the hem of her dress, drew it off over her head with one smooth movement.

"I knew there was a reason I liked that dress so well-" The rest of that thought went unsaid, though, because she put both hands on his chest and pushed him back, hard, until his legs met the bed and he collapsed onto his back on the white comforter. Buffy immediately straddled his thighs, and reached for his fly. She opened his pants just enough to free his erection, then lifted herself over him.

"Buffy, love, you forgot something," he whispered, then curled strong fingers in her panties and tore the scrap of lace from her hips. Now clad in no more than her rhinestone-studded heels, she lowered herself onto him, impaling herself for her pleasure. Trapped beneath her, he could only move at her pace, slamming his hips upward as she descended to meet him. The heat that enveloped him was sure to destroy him, but he willingly offered himself in sacrifice. Anything to prolong the sensations wracking him.

His hands skimmed up her body, stopping to circle her narrow waist, then flowed up her back to pull her towards him. He curled himself upward to bring her within reach of his mouth, then licked the droplets of sweat from her golden skin, filling his mouth and nose with the scent of her, only her. Though it had been only minutes, he felt as though they had been locked in this embrace for hours, wearing him away as water does the hardest stone. At last, her back arched like a drawn bow, she gave a single stuttering, wordless cry like the call of some wild bird, and he felt her inner muscles clench spasmodically in release. He surrendered himself as well, and followed her in the spiral down into darkness as she collapsed on top of him.

Some minutes later, Spike gently rolled Buffy off of him, and lifted stray damp tendrils of hair from her face. "Well," he ventured, "seems that someone here was desperate for a good shag." Then he watched with amusement the blush that grew in her cheeks. _After everything that has already happened between us,_ now _it embarrasses her?_

He couldn't resist another verbal jab. "I was particularly fond of the shoes, love. Think you might keep them on the rest of the night?" Now her shoulders and even her belly began to be mottled rose with embarrassment. But before Buffy could bring her hands up to cover her face - or pound him, more likely - he encircled her wrists with cool fingers. This time, he'd watch his mouth. Just a bit, until he could make her understand.

"Look at me, love. It's just a tease. It's what I do, same as you when you fight - because it wouldn't be nearly as good without it, would it?" Spike sighed theatrically. "Shan't stop until you give as good as you get, pet, though you might find it difficult to match me. Teachers always did despair of me - said I had a wicked tongue."

Buffy drew a deep breath and locked her eyes on his. She wet her lips, then whispered "Prove it".

"Now _that's_ my Slayer," he laughed. "And I'll do just that, soon as you help me free of these rather confining togs. Patience is a virtue, even though virtue's not something I'd normally encourage in a lover." So Buffy found herself sitting naked on her own bed, with her feet (in strappy rhinestone stilettos) tucked under her, undressing a vampire. _Not how I ever could have predicted this evening would end, even if I'd had a hundred lifetimes._

The coat was simple, and she slipped it from his shoulders, enjoying the feel of him under her hands. The shirt itself took more attention, since it had ordinary buttons, but wasn't using them - being fastened instead by tiny gemstone studs. Buffy made sure to refasten each stud into the shirt before moving on to the next. Spike raised his chin as she opened the first few, and she could suddenly see the vulnerability of his white throat as a vampire might. Leaning forward, she scraped her teeth delicately across the pale skin and was rewarded with a rumbling growl from deep in his chest.

As each stud was opened, Buffy spread Spike's shirt wider. Seized with a sudden curiosity, she pressed her open lips to his chest and tasted his flesh, licking in small, delicate circles behind each stud. His arms came up around her and his nails grazed random patterns up and down her back, making her shiver. She opened the last stud, then slid her hands under the fabric to slip it down his arms.

"Cuffs," he said shortly, then tended to them himself, taking the same moment to kick off his shoes. Looking into his eyes, she saw naked hunger and lust.

"Don't know if I'm going to be too strong in the virtue department myself, love. Don't think I can wait much longer."

He stood to allow his pants to be removed. As they slid off his narrow hips, an idle observer in a small unused corner of her mind commented that a man more than a hundred years old might still find 'tighty whitey' briefs a little too newfangled and was that why he didn't seem to be wearing any underwear? _Not like I had any time to notice, earlier._

He climbed back onto the bed behind her, cupping her chin with his right hand to draw her head to one side. Though his erection pressed urgently against her hip, her attention was soon riveted instead by the sensation of Spike's tongue sweeping slowly along her hairline and behind her left ear. He paused for a moment to gently suck her earlobe between his lips, careful of the silver hoop there, then continued down her throat. With one arm across her chest, he gently pressed her back to the bed. He lay beside her, his tongue softly teasing her mouth open, then plunging eagerly to meet her own.

Slowly, he worked his way down her body. Her nipples he attacked with a hard, pointed tongue tip, until they had stiffened to his satisfaction, Then he sucked one, then the other into his mouth, caressing them softly again. A slow line of wet kisses trailed down her belly, until he could dip gently into her navel. Then he stopped.

Buffy cried out in frustration, and lifted her hips towards him.

"Patience, love, is always rewarded," he smiled. Inside his head, the litany ran _talking to Xander about construction projects, asking Giles to explain some obscure point of demonology, ice cold water, hearing about Willow's kitten again, getting a stake in the heart . . ._ Anything to maintain his rapidly shredding control.

Spike slid to the end of the bed and turned his attention to her feet. His tongue curled lazily around one anklebone then teased her instep. _The shoes will probably have to go after all; don't want to be accidentally staked in the back._ The suddenly intrusive thought of the necessary contortion nearly undid him.

He continued teasing her feet, gently biting and kissing, while he removed her shoes, then began working his way up her legs. Her breath hissed sharply as he tasted the delicate skin of her inner thighs, and he felt as though he might drown in the scent of her arousal. Cradling her hips like he would a fine chalice, he bent his head to taste her. He tasted himself as well, bitter in her sweetness, and marvelled again that _he_ was the one, he had been inside her, surrounded by the heat and strength (and lust, oh yes) that was the Slayer. He softened his tongue to caress her, then bared his teeth in a gentle bite. As he felt her climax building, he changed his approach, thrusting into her sharply.

Buffy's response was a wordless moan as Spike's tongue invaded her. One hand clutched in his soft hair as the other twined in the sheets, nearly tearing them as her body surrendered all control to him. Her orgasm thundered through her, wave after wave of sensations leaving her limp and weak beneath him, as she had been once before. _No one else has ever made me feel so . . . Why did I make us both wait so long?_

As silently and silkily as a shadow, he slid upward along her body and plunged deeply into her. His wet mouth met her own, open hungrily to taste him, and she felt another tremor of arousal shake her body. As Spike tensed in her arms, spilling himself into her yet again, she locked her legs around his back and let the world come apart around her.

Soft kisses, caresses and whispers of nonsense brought them back to their senses together. "Some rest now, I think," Spike murmured as he gently withdrew, to lie beside her and draw her close to his chest. Buffy didn't reply, but nestled close, content for the moment to just be herself, here in her skin, held by this man who loved her. Sleep claimed them both shortly thereafter.

Spike awoke at last; some inner sense warning him that sunrise would soon be at hand. He lay curled behind her, warm with stolen heat, his left arm about her and his hand enfolding one small breast. He lazily stroked the nipple with his thumb and smiled into her hair as it came erect beneath his touch.

"Buffy, love," he whispered, trailing a line of kisses up her throat to her ear. "I have to go soon." He nipped gently at her ear with blunt teeth. "Sunrise."

"Stay w'me," she murmured from her sleep.

"I can't. Mr. Golden Sun has it in for me." Heaven - _someone_ \- help them both, this bit of nonsense actually seemed to rouse her.

"I c'n close the blinds, and the curtains. Keep it dark enough."

"True, but there's another problem. All I've got for clothes is that suit there, and it's not the sort of thing I want to be prancing home in later. It's more a skulk-home-drunkenly-just-before-dawn kind of look." _And it smells very strongly of Slayer and sex, which I do not intend to share._

"Well, we can probably find you something . . ."

"Oh please. And will it be as fetching as Xander's ensemble was?" His raised dark brows spoke volumes (mostly rude) about his opinion on _that_ matter.

"Or go past your crypt and pick up your _one_ other outfit. You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you _wanted_ to leave."

"But you _do_ know me better." Spike rolled himself on top of her, forcing her tightly against the bed, and crushed her lips with his. His tongue demanded entry to her mouth, and she surrendered, letting him thrust deeply, only to ambush him with teeth, lips and tongue of her own. Summoning her strength, she pushed him back and twisted beneath him until she ended up with one knee pinning his chest, and both his wrists prisoners in her hands. The view would have left him breathless, if he'd had any. Buffy smiled down at him, then pushed off to go tend to the windows.

Spike raised himself on his elbows, the better to watch her lithe, nude form pad about the room, securing the blinds to keep him safe from the destroying sun. She was his deadly goddess, in whose temple he delighted to worship. A cold marble woman, come to trembling warm life - his Galatea - although, Spike thought, given the probable lack of exposure to the classics in the California education system, he'd do best to keep another woman's name tightly behind his lips. Finished with her task, Buffy returned to the bed. She glanced covertly at the sheets muddled over his hips, then met his eyes squarely.

"Well," she murmured, with a smile far from innocent, "as long as you're up . . ."

Some time later, as Spike wearily laid his head back to the pillows, he thought _if this is some new method of destroying vampires, it beats all hell out of the old one._

"Ooof," Buffy moaned, as she slapped the snooze button on the alarm. "Now _I_ have to get going. The cleaning crew and the party equipment rental company will be at the Magic Box in an hour, and I promised that I'd be there to supervise them. Then Dawn and I have to get some groceries and lots of other mundane house jobs done. You'll be on your own here until we get back." Buffy made to push back the covers, but Spike caught her wrist with iron fingers.

"Sorry love, but the correct order of things is _coming_ , then going." And Buffy felt a throbbing deep within her, like the lowest note of some vast instrument, as he trailed his left hand down her belly to caress the damp curls between her thighs. Her knees parted eagerly to let him slip first one, and then a second finger into her, beginning slow, gentle strokes. Her hips lifted involuntarily from the bed and she pressed against his hand to allow him, to _beg_ him, to plunge even more deeply. Buffy let her eyes close again, and moaned softly. Her rhythm quickened but Spike easily matched it, thrusting measure for measure. His lips provided a counterpoint, whispering hotly in her ear all the different ways he would please her. A third finger stretched her achingly taut, while his thumb added delicate grace notes that finally brought her up to a shattering crescendo. And then he muted her cry with his own mouth as she came back down.

It was some time before Buffy could catch her breath and open her eyes. She looked up at Spike propped up beside her on one elbow; his face wore what she imagined must be the self-satisfied smirk of a lover who knows _exactly_ how skilled he is.

"There. Order is satisfied. _Buffy_ is satisfied, and I'll just have a nice nap here today." He brought his hand to his pale mouth, and a shockingly red tongue curled around one wet finger from knuckle to tip. "Don't worry, pet. I'm sure I can find some way to conjure pleasant dreams while you're gone."

She slipped from the bed on legs that suddenly seemed too weak to hold her. Spike sprawled naked on his stomach across her bed and watched her dress; all the while savouring the taste of her he'd stolen, like food of the gods. Sweet clover honey, she was. _Almost better than tasting her blood. Almost._

Buffy knew he was watching her - she could nearly feel the tingling of her skin under his gaze. So if she stretched a little more languorously, drew her tank top on a little more slowly or smoothed her jeans a little more closely over her hips, it was only that she was . . . tired. And he really didn't need any more sleep than she had had . . .

As she passed through the door to the hall, Buffy found the ammunition for one last dart. "I'll just let Dawn choose something for you to wear then, shall I?" she asked, and ducked out before he could reply.

 _Gods above and demons below. The woman has no mercy in her at all._

He lay in her bed, just listening to the hiss of water in the pipes, the muffled sounds of women's voices and everyday morning activities, surrounded by her scent and his, mingled and musky. He fancied the conversation over breakfast was a little more interesting today than the usual fare. Only when he heard the front door close behind them did he let sleep carry him away.


	2. Dance of the Hours

**Dance Until Dawn**

Spike awoke again in the late afternoon. Listening, he heard no sign yet that Buffy and Dawn had returned from their expedition. _Might as well take advantage of the amenities, then_ , he thought, and headed for the bathroom. The luxury of cascades of hot water wasn't something he got to experience often. Just as well that vampires didn't sweat, if they didn't get near showers frequently, he decided.

Having successfully chosen the only unscented soap and ordinary shampoo, Spike left the bathroom refreshed, wrapped only in a large white towel. While it would have been the next best thing - drowning in her scent - it probably wouldn't win him any points with the demons and vamps when he returned home. He made it back to the bedroom just in time to hear the commotion as Dawn and Buffy entered.

"Spike?" Buffy called up the stairs, "You awake yet, sleepyhead?"

"Come on up and find out," he challenged.

She came into the room and dropped a shopping bag on the bed. "Here. Though I love the new look, it really might prove awkward on patrol." She suddenly had to dodge a flick from his towel, only to be captured by his arms. His kisses were just as sweet and hot as they had been in the night, and it felt just as good to surrender herself - but she pulled away. "I've got to make us some dinner, so the sooner you're dressed-" _The sooner I'll be able to think clearly again._

"Ah," he sighed with mock disappointment. "Then I'd best see what you brought me." The first item he shook out of the bag was a pair of black jeans. "So far, so good," he smiled, as he drew them on. "You even got the size right." Spike grabbed his rumpled suit from the floor where it had been discarded, and folded it to take back with him, all but the shoes, which he slipped on.

"It's not like I didn't have . . . ample opportunities to figure it out," she said, meeting his smile with her own. "There's a T-shirt in there somewhere too."

He pulled the item in question from the depths of the bag. "It's . . . blue." _Oh, you_ are _master of the blindingly obvious, aren't you, Spike._

"Dawn picked it out. She thought it would go well with your eyes," Buffy replied.

 _Ah, vanity, thy name is . . . Spike, apparently. What is it about these Summers women and their effects on my judgement?_ he groused to himself, as he pulled the shirt over his head. It, too, fit well, judging by Buffy's expression. _Better than a hundred reflections, the look in her eyes._ "Suitable for dinner?" he enquired.

"Entirely . . . edible," she reassured him, kissing him deeply before taking his hand and leading him down the stairs.

"Afternoon, Little Bit," he greeted Dawn as they came into the kitchen where she was unpacking groceries. "Recovered yet from yesterday?"

"Yesterday's not the problem, unless you mean all the sleep I couldn't get last night," Dawn replied, not seeing Buffy's sudden blush. "Today's what's making my feet hurt, having schlepped all over town for groceries and everything."

"We went to Mel's, too, so you wouldn't have to sit and watch us eat." Buffy indicated the rack in the refrigerator door filled with what looked like enough packaged blood to last him at least two weeks. Spike wasn't entirely sure he felt comfortable with what looked like the assumption he'd be moving in. "I'll get something going. How about sloppy joes? Not that there were ever any tidy joes, though. And salad?"

"Sounds great, Buffy. We'll get out of your way," Dawn replied, taking Spike's arm and drawing him into the living room. "We don't want to get sucked into tearing up lettuce or something, which is what will happen if we stick around in there," she explained, under her voice.

"Wise precaution, I'm sure," Spike replied, equally quietly. They settled into the comfortable seats in the living room. "Nice necklace, Niblet. Looks a lot better on you than in that display at the Magic Box. You sure this one doesn't come with any nasty surprises?"

Dawn's eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat. "Are-are you going to tell her?" she stammered.

Spike shook his head. " 's not my place, is it? That's something you have to decide to do."

"She'll never even notice. Nobody notices _anything_ I do!" Spike just cocked his head and raised his eyebrows at this protest. "Oh, okay, so _you_ do. But Buffy's acting like she's the only one who's ever had any problems."

"Yeah," Spike conceded, "I see that, from time to time." _Hard to say who's got it worse: sacrifice your life to save the world, again, then get dragged back from heaven and be forced to carry on saving it while being responsible for keeping your family together; or find out you've been created from a ball of mystical energy in order to be the key that destroys the world, then go through puberty comparing yourself to your sister, the superhero. My 'life' is perfectly normal by comparison._ "You want me to talk to her?" he asked, finally.

"No. Just . . . no."

"You want to talk to _me_?" Dawn just shook her head, so he continued. " 'Cos if you do, you know where to find me."

She smiled. "Yeah. Upstairs, one door over."

"Touché, Sweet Bit. You _are_ growing up. But don't rush into anything on my account." The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence until Buffy called them to the table.

Buffy surveyed the mess ruefully. "Well, once again sloppy joes live up to their name," she sighed.

"Don't look at me," Spike replied, "I've always been known for my excellent table manners."

"Yeah. And the fact that all _you_ had to eat was a coffee cup full of blood has nothing to do with it," retorted Dawn, out of the debris at her end of the table.

"Nope. Not a thing," he smirked.

"Just for that attitude, there'll be no dessert for _you_ , mister," Buffy teased. "And we bought ice cream. Dawn, chocolate or vanilla?"

"Chocolate, please," Dawn replied, and Buffy applied her Slayer strength to the happier task of scooping the rock-hard ice cream into waiting cones.

"What, not any treat at all for poor Spike?" the vampire complained. "Not even a lick?"

Buffy wisely chose to ignore this comment, and she and Dawn settled back to enjoy their ice cream. Spike leaned forward with one elbow on the table, rested his chin in his upraised palm, and favored Buffy with a lascivious grin.

"What are _you_ looking at?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied, licking his lower lip in a way that indicated it was clearly _not_ nothing, "but if you want to guarantee you have a man's full attention, pet, do please eat an ice cream cone in front of him. Of course, he won't be actually listening to a word you say, but you _will_ have his _full_ attention." Buffy nearly dropped her cone.

"I don't get it," said Dawn. "How does just eating - oh - but _ewww_!" she squealed.

"Spike, stop corrupting my sister!" Buffy exclaimed, laughing.

"Me? You're the one started it. _You've_ got the cone. Besides, I'm too busy trying to corrupt you. Corrupting Dawn wasn't on my schedule until at least next Tuesday." He turned with a broad wink to Dawn. "You did pencil me in on your schedule, didn't you Platelet?"

Dawn giggled. "Sure. Right after my class on breaking and entering."

"The only thing on your schedule tonight is homework, Dawn. Right after dishes," Buffy insisted.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. Geez, loosen up, would you? When does Tara get here? I want to show her something I did for school."

"Shouldn't be too long. The sun's already going down," Buffy said, twitching the kitchen curtains aside for a look.

"Patrol time?" Spike asked.

"Patrol," Buffy confirmed. "Can't let the monsters get _two_ nights off in a row. Somebody'd complain to the Slayer's union, or something."

"Not that you'd listen," he teased.

"Well . . . no. It's just the principle of the thing."

Spike was saved from having to reply by the sound of the front doorbell. Dawn rushed past and flung it open eagerly.

"Hey Tara," she gushed, trying to look casual. "Glad you could come over."

"Hey Dawnie," Tara replied easily, "still waiting for me to have a look at that essay? I don't promise much, but I can at least check your spelling for you."

"I'll get it," Dawn said, starting up the stairs two at a time.

Spike watched Tara move easily into the kitchen to greet Buffy as well. As she passed him, she looked up and he was startled by the intensity of her gaze. Then, suddenly, she smiled. A wide, welcoming smile that seemed to warm even his chill flesh. _She knows. I don't know how, but she knows. And she thinks that it's okay._

Tara laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Good luck," she whispered. "Love can be pretty hard, some times. But I think you two really need each other right now."

 _Just when I thought I was beginning to understand things . . ._ Spike mused.

"We shouldn't be too late, Tara," said Buffy, as she grabbed her bag of weapons. "There doesn't seem to be too much activity this week. Don't let Dawn talk you into doing the dishes, it's her turn."

"We'll be fine, Buffy. Have . . . fun. Was that as weird as it sounded?"

Buffy laughed. "Not around here, it isn't. Have a good night."

Buffy sat on the edge of Spike's bed, swinging her heels. "I don't know why this is taking you so long. You only have the one coat; how hard can it be to remember where you put it?"

Spike tossed the bag with his suit in it into one corner. "And if you keep distracting me, I'll never find it, will I?" He began to rummage under various piles of unidentifiable materials.

"Fine. Just hurry up. There's sure to be all sorts of fun starting without us." To keep herself occupied, Buffy began to investigate the contents of Spike's nightstand. _Let's see: cigarettes, matches, candle stubs, last month's Maxim . . . ewww, no_ human _woman could wear that! Book of love poems . . . pretty worn out . . . guess he never lost interest. Wonder what he'd write about me? Penknife, twine - what the hell?_

"Found it!" Spike carolled, and Buffy spun around guiltily. _Oh, his coat._

"Spike," Buffy asked in a low, dangerous voice, "What exactly did you have in mind with these?" indicating the shiny handcuffs swinging from one finger. They still bore the price tag of Sunnydale's premiere adult store. _Not that I think he actually_ paid _for them . . ._

"Well love, I figured that was one way to keep you from running off."

" _So_ not going there, Spike. Not _ever_."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it, Goldilocks. All it takes is a little trust -"

"Like that's going to happen. Can we go now?" Buffy tossed the cuffs back in the drawer and rubbed her hands to wipe away the slick feel of them.

"After you." Spike shrugged into his coat and waved her towards the ladder. _I can wait._

"Well, that last one was just . . . gross," Buffy complained, scraping the worst of the mess off her hands on the stone walls. "Why do demons always have to have fluorescent goo for blood anyway?"

"Mind the decor, love," Spike responded mildly. "It's taken years of neglect to make it look this good. Let me get you some water."

" _You_ have water?" Buffy teased, as he moved towards his small refrigerator.

"Very funny," he replied, handing her a bottle of mineral water. "I do get thirsty for things besides blood, you know."

"And bourbon?" she asked. Spike didn't care to dignify that with an answer.

As Buffy rinsed her hands, wiping them on her jeans, Spike moved about the crypt lighting candles. He turned back at last to see her sitting on the ledge at the edge of the room.

"I'd forgotten . . . how beautiful you are in candlelight," he said at last. _I wouldn't let myself remember. In sunlight, I think you'd blind me._

He moved closer to her and tugged at one braid. "But what's with the hair?"

"Keeps it out of my face, silly. I don't need to lose sight of the monsters at a critical moment."

"I like it in your face . . . and mine," he replied, slipping free the elastics and running his fingers through the plaits to loosen them. He gently brought the resulting curls down to frame her face. Buffy captured his hands and held them, inspecting them closely.

"When did you stop painting your nails?" she asked.

"It's been a while now, pet. Just felt like it was time for a change." He smiled gently down at her. "I'm sure I should be crushed that it took you so long to notice."

"You're . . . not going to change your hair, are you?" He raised a brow at her quizzically. "It's just that . . . I kind of like it the way it is." _I got used to the sleek, peroxide, bad boy vamp look, I guess._

"Not if you don't want. So what is it you _do_ want, Slayer?" His smile was an open invitation.

Buffy stood, pressing herself so tightly against him that his arms had to slip around her to keep his balance. She raked her fingers through his hair, tugging the fine curls into disarray.

"You, Spike," she replied. "I want you. In my life . . ." She leaned into his embrace. "In my arms . . ." Kissed him. "In my bed . . ." Then with her lips at his ear, she said in a voice so low that even his acute hearing almost missed the words: "And in me."

With these words, she released him abruptly, hooking one leg behind his knees. Planting both small hands firmly in the centre of his chest, she pushed him over backwards. Leaving him with a mocking smile, Buffy stepped back and dropped suddenly through the hole in the floor down to the lower level.

Sprawled on the floor, Spike could only stare at the ladder where Buffy had vanished. He had always known of the effect of a good scrap on a Slayer's libido, which even Buffy herself had denied until just recently. But he still wasn't used to having the resulting ardour directed solely at him.

 _So what the hell are you waiting about up here for, mate?_ Scrambling to his feet, he followed her down the ladder, expecting an ambush. Instead, he found her waiting for him, sitting naked in the middle of his bed with the sheet pulled demurely up over her breasts.

"What took you so long?" she enquired with a teasing grin.

Shedding his clothes as he crossed the floor, Spike growled and lunged for her on the bed. "I'll show you something that takes a long time," he mock threatened, reaching for the drawer of his nightstand, only to nearly lose fingers as Buffy slammed it shut again.

"Don't even think it," she warned.

"Right. Well then, maybe some other time," he replied, sucking at his injured digits.

"In your dreams, Spike."

"Always," he said with a smile, before pinning her to the bed with his weight, to begin once again the rhythms of a dance that had already been old when time itself was young.

"Spike," Buffy murmured into his chest, "why haven't you tried to bite me?"

"Hmmm? I have, love," he replied sleepily. "Gave me a bloody migraine, it did."

"But the chip wouldn't stop you now, would it? And I thought that vampires . . . when they . . . you know . . ."

Spike looked down and tipped her chin up to see her more clearly. "Oho! Sounds like someone's finally found Rupert's secret stash of naughty vampire books. Or did demon-girl suss them out first and show you?"

Buffy's cheeks pinked. "I just . . . was curious," she managed at last, neither confirming nor denying the source of her information.

"And would you enjoy it if I did? Just to satisfy your curiosity? You'd have to start wearing turtlenecks."

"Tell me . . . what it's like."

"Tell _you_? The woman who's had more bites than anyone and survived to tell the tale?"

"That was different. I want to know what it feels like when it's your lover." A momentary sad smile creased her features. _Angel and I never got to really find out. And we've both moved on since then. I need Spike now, in ways I never could have imagined before._

Spike noticed the look, but said nothing. _I'll never be able to make you forget him, will I? But still, I'll do my damnedest._ He rolled to face her in the bed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, and set out to win her, body and soul, to him.

"It's the ultimate sensation. There's pain, of course, but it leads to such pleasure. As your blood flows, all your senses become unbearably sharp. It's like every nerve ending in your body has come alive with fire." He punctuated his words to her with caresses and kisses, first soft, but growing more forceful by the minute. His fingers drew lazy spirals on her taut belly.

His hands trailed over her suddenly flushed skin. "Time itself seems to slow down. Every touch seems to last forever. And when you finally come, it's like being hit by a fucking freight train."

Buffy's breath was coming in short gasps now, her lips parted and her eyes shining. She reached one arm around Spike's neck and pulled him over on top of her. "Show me," she whispered breathlessly into his ear. Driven by the desire in her eyes, he proceeded to do just that, plunging into her welcoming depths with renewed energy.

As Spike's skills brought her near to her climax, Buffy closed her eyes and threw her head back, inviting him in. He brought his lips to the delicate unmarked flesh where her neck and left shoulder met, then kissed her tenderly there before letting his demon nature show in his face. Without another moment's hesitation for thought, he bit deeply into her throat.

Buffy stiffened the instant she felt his cold fangs pierce her neck, but forgot the pain almost immediately in the cascade of other sensations that swept through her. The bites she had experienced from other vampires had been like this only in the sense that a candle flame was _like_ a bonfire. She suddenly thought she could feel every strand of hair on her body tipped with sparks. Every thread in the plain cotton sheets scraped individually at her back. Spike's body on her and in her became a liquid, surrounding her, filling her, drowning her with pleasure. Her own breath rasped loudly in her ears. And it wouldn't stop.

Spike had lied about one thing, though. When her orgasm finally crashed through her, it was nothing at all like a freight train. It was an earthquake.

After what had seemed like an eternity of living on the blood of cold, dead things, Spike nearly wept as a gout of Buffy's hot, living blood poured into his mouth. Her blood was the heat and light of the hundred summers that had passed since he last had tasted a Slayer. The taste of her was the perfume of a thousand flowers under July skies. He drank deeply, revelling in the feel of her flesh between his teeth. Buffy's nails raked furrows down his back, but the pain only heightened his pleasure. A fire began to burn inside him; he was swallowing the sun. But he still wouldn't, couldn't stop. Her arms slid away from him weakly. _Wait, there's something not right . . ._

Without the chip acting to stop him, he had to choose what he'd never bothered to do before - stop drinking before he killed. It took more strength than he thought he had remaining, but Spike finally tore his mouth away, lips and chin sticky with her blood. _Damn fool. Playing with fire, you are. Got used to having something else controlling you. But I never knew it could be like that._

Eyes and mouth wide, he could only look down at Buffy's equally stunned face. If he didn't need to breathe, why was he panting? He licked the blood from his lips. Every other demand of his body seemed to pale in comparison to the urge to drink more.

Buffy folded a corner of the sheet around two fingers and used it to gently wipe Spike's chin and cheek free of blood as his face resumed its human form. He bent his head once more to capture the two small rills of blood that were all that was left on her throat, and she stiffened beneath him again, though whether in fear or pleasure he couldn't decide.

His limbs were heavy, and he rested his forehead on hers, inhaling her sweet scent and just trying to recover himself. Buffy kissed his soft mouth gently, then drew his lower lip into her mouth and began to worry it with her teeth. Spike drew his head back sharply.

"Don't. That's too dangerous right now." He pulled back and levered himself up to sit with his legs over the edge of the bed, dropping his head into his hands. He still could hear the voice inside him demanding that he go back and drink more, but he pushed it away. _You could have her at your side for a thousand years, a glorious dark queen_ , it insisted. The price . . . the only price . . . would be that she would be dead and cold in his bed. _But isn't that better than a bright fire, certain to burn out quickly and leave you alone again? Have you no sense?_

Some small part of him that was still William stirred, and countered:

 _. . . have you no sense_

 _plenty of it he answered  
but at times we get tired  
of using it  
we get bored with the routine  
and crave beauty  
and excitement  
fire is beautiful  
and we know that if we get  
too close it will kill us  
but what does that matter  
it is better to be happy  
for a moment  
and be burned up with beauty  
than to live a long time  
and be bored all the while  
so we wad all our life up  
into one little roll  
and then we shoot the roll  
that is what life is for  
it is better to be a part of beauty  
for one instant and then cease to  
exist than to exist forever  
and never be a part of beauty . . ._

 _Just because I never managed to write the bloody stuff, doesn't mean I don't know it says more than plain words ever will._

"Spike?" Buffy sat up and tentatively reached for his shoulder but he shook her hand away.

"Don't touch me," he said sharply, still struggling for control. Then, seeing her sudden wounded look, he relented. "No, I didn't mean . . . come here," he murmured, drawing her forward and into his lap to be held tightly against him. The warmth of her skin eased him, and he could feel her blood inside, now burning him clean like the fire of a forge purifying a metal. _If those are my choices, I'll live in the fire. Even if something so bright can't last for long._

 _My candle burns at both ends;  
It will not last the night;  
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-  
It gives a lovely light!_

"And with Willow having . . . moved out, I'm thinking about moving into my mom's old room." Buffy prattled on, while dressing. "It's larger than mine, so there's more room for your stuff, and of course, the bed's bigger-"

"I'm not going back with you." _This is the part of 'I'll never lie to you' that gets my ass kicked, isn't it?_

"What?"

"I said no. I made you a promise I'd not lie to you. My place is still here, not in some cosy suburban domestic scene. It's not what I am."

He saw the blow coming, but chose not to defend himself. Buffy's fist snapped his head to the side and rocked him back on his heels. A small trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, and he idly wiped it away, licking his fingers thoughtfully. _Mostly yours, now. Shouldn't waste it so._

"You can't turn us into some parody of a nuclear family without risking a meltdown. It won't work because you'll never really love me; you don't trust me - and you're right not to. I'm still a vampire, Buffy, neutered or not." He sighed. "You and Dawn need some time alone, as family. Soonest is best, love. You need to sit down, just you two alone and talk to her. No, better. You need to listen. _Really_ listen"

"Why do _I_ always have to be the one?" Buffy complained. " I have enough to do just coming back to being the Slayer. There's no way I can do both on my own."

"Yes you can, pet. Because you have to, you will. The way you always do. I'll always be there for you, but Dawn needs _you_ for _her_. Not Tara as surrogate mum, nor me as bad-ass brother, but you."

"It's not fair!" Buffy shouted.

"Well of course it's not," he replied bluntly. "Life's never been fair - deal with it. Fair's a word for little children arguing over whose turn it is in their favourite game.

"Some days you'll come to me and we'll scream, and fight, and cry and shag . . ." a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll always love you, and I'll always give you what peace I can. But then I'll stand you up and make you face the world again, even when you think you'd rather die.

"And you'll do it. You'll stand up straight. You'll tell them. You'll show them. The reward for your job well done is nothing but another job. A harder job. And you'll do it, because it's what heroes do."

"I didn't ask to be a damn hero!"

When he answered, his voice held infinite sorrow. "No one ever does. Some days you'll hate me, because I'll be the one telling you what you don't want to hear - what no one else will tell you. But I'll never leave you. Any man who could walk away from you after having had you in his bed, having been between your legs . . . is mad."

"All my connections to the world run through you. But you . . .you're connected to so many people who need you, in so many ways. They support you, but they draw on you as well. It's both the reward and the cost of living."

"You call this living?" She lashed out at him again.

Spike caught her hand and pressed her palm against his chest. _That's it, feel. Think. Cold flesh, still heart._ He tried to hold her eyes with his, but Buffy looked away.

"It _is_ what I call living, Buffy," he said softly. "And sometimes I envy you more than you'll ever understand." He drew her forward to him in a tight embrace, and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

They stood together on the lawn, neither one willing to be the first to release the other's hands.

"You have to go," he said, when the silence threatened to last all night.

"I know. I don't want to, though." Buffy sighed. "You'll probably just get all Giles-y on me again, and tell me it builds character to do things I don't want to do."

"Perish the thought," he smiled. "Though if I thought you'd listen, I've a few suggestions . . ."

"Goodnight, Spike."

"Goodnight, Buffy." He let go her hands at last, and started down the walk.

"Spike . . ."

He turned back to see her silhouetted by the porch light. "Yes, love?"

"I do, you know. Love you."

Spike closed his eyes and stored this treasure away, to warm him in some bleak future hour. He found himself struck nearly dumb for the first time in his existence, and resorted to flippancy in order to reply. "So this means I'll be seeing you tomorrow night? Besides, you _know_ you want to try the handcuffs."

She smiled. "Still dreaming, Spike?"

 _Yes. But now I don't ever want to wake up._ And he walked down the street, hands in his pockets, whistling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> Poems are  
> excerpt from 'the lesson of the moth' by Don Marquis,  
> 'First Fig' by Edna St. Vincent Millay


End file.
